


Fleeced

by silkendreammaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M, Mystery, Original Character(s), Secret Snarry Swap 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-09 21:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12897633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkendreammaid/pseuds/silkendreammaid
Summary: Harry didn’t think buying a few balls of wool would lead to this.





	Fleeced

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 41 from smirkingcat: After the war Harry Potter has disappeared and no body knows where to. Severus Snape has been declared death without a body ever found, but with many eyewitness accounts seeing him dying or already dead- so maybe he drowned. 
> 
> To both their utter surprise they met on a small farmers market in rural Britain or Ireland, trying to buy the same wool. Interests are spiked, things happen, drama ensures, Christmas finds its way.

“You’ve enchanted your sheep again, Madam.” 

The soft drawl of disapproval had Harry’s hand frozen in mid-grab. He hadn’t heard that voice in nearly five years. He slowly took his eyes off the ball of Gryffindor red wool he had been reaching for and carefully turned his head slightly to sight the speaker.

Black hair, black robes. Harry closed his eyes briefly then opened them again. Ok, so the hair was longer and pulled back into a tail. The robes were not as heavy and hung comfortably over a dark shirt and black jeans. Harry blinked. Snape in jeans? He checked again. Yes, jeans. He looked at the man’s nose and nodded to himself. Yes, crooked and hooked. 

“The charm you use contaminates the wool, Madam Boyle,” Snape – it had to be him – continued speaking to the stall-keeper. “And as I have told you on numerous occasions, contaminated wool is completely unsuitable for my needs. Perhaps next time you could restrain yourself and only charm half your flock,” he finished with the snideness of the long suffering.

“I’ll not be splitting my sheep on yer say-so,” the grey haired, stout woman huffed at him. “Yer the only one wanting plain wool, and I’m not losing half my custom because o’ you.”

“You’d get more custom if you had plain, as well the charmed wool,” Snape said easily, a slightly sly look on his face. “Madam Blight sells double what you do.”

“Yer not going to stir that cauldron with me, Master Snape, when yer too lazy to walk the half-mile to her shop,” Madam Boyle scoffed at him, completely unimpressed, and Harry got the impression that this was a familiar argument between them.

He stood to one side and eyed the wool while he listened to them. Snape looked rather healthy for a dead man. His voice was deeper and Harry could just make out scars on his neck not quite covered by the man’s collar. His face was still pale but no longer lined. He was thinner than Harry remembered, and Harry wondered just how Snape had managed to survive Nagini’s bite.

Harry picked up the wool. It was very soft and he could sense a slight tingle against his skin. It was warm and gentle and he knew that Molly Weasley would love it. It was the only link he had kept when he had left England after the final battle. His fingers tightened on the wool. Maybe he should get a couple more balls of it. It really was a lovely soft feeling. He reached over and picked up several more balls.

“Great Merlin, woman! Now your wool is Confunding people,” Harry heard before he realised his hands were empty and he almost whimpered at the sudden loss of warmth. He blinked rapidly and found both Madam Boyle and Snape staring at him.

“What? It was warm and tingling,” he sputtered, at their accusing faces.

Madam Boyle went from staring to beaming in a heartbeat. “Now, that, see that, that is why my wool is all the better for havin’ the charms on it.” She plucked the wool from Snape’s hands and pushed it into Harry’s hands again. His fingers sank into the warmth and magic of the red fibres.

“More like an Imperius,” Snape mumbled as he frowned at the brown haired, blue-eyed man who was all but petting the balls of wool like a small pet. He tilted his head as the younger man shifted his feet, obviously uncomfortable with the sudden attention. Snape’s eyes narrowed. There was something in the younger man’s manner that struck a forgotten memory. Snape was almost certain he’d seen that awkward shuffle before.

He scowled at the stranger before glaring at Madam Boyle again. “One day, Madam, your sheep are going to suffer a horrendous fate because of all the charms you so heedlessly cast on them.” His dark eyes narrowed as he continued, “And when the magical rebound hits you, perhaps then you will understand why your blind ignorance offends me so.” He turned and strode away from the small stall, his robes billowing around him, his back rigidly straight and annoyed menace projected with every step. 

Harry watched the man leave, smiling slightly at the billowing robes. Even when he was annoyed, Snape’s gait was smooth, effortlessly gliding over the rough stones of the street. He looked at the balls of wool and then at the disappearing man. Snape was seldom wrong, but… it was just wool. He looked at Madam Boyle. She seemed unconcerned and their argument had been completely without rancour – like old foes who argued for the sake of arguing than because they meant what they said.

“Don’ you worry ‘bout it.” Madam Boyle smiled at him. “Master Snape ’as a thing about magic and what’s the right an’ proper way to use it. He gets right upset when ‘e thinks it’s being misused.” 

Harry could understand that. Harry had felt the evil of Horcruxes and the Unforgivables – he knew that Snape would have felt all that and so much more while at the Dark Lord’s side. And Harry knew Snape had created some very nasty spells, spells that still haunted Harry’s nightmares.

“Should be enough for a decent jumper now,” Madam Boyle said as she handed him another ball of wool. “That’ll be three Galleons,” she added, holding out a bag for him to drop the wool into. He felt rather reluctant to let them go but they settled almost glowing in the bottom of the bag. He handed over the coins and smiled as she handed him the bag. He was almost certain he could feel the warmth of the wool through the bag.

He gave her another smile as he left, intending to find the nearest owl office.

* * *

The fumes from the cauldron rose slowly in a cloud of green and silver. A smoky mist that wafted over the framework suspended above the bench. It clung to thread and wood alike, a faint gleam appearing as the fumes thickened.

A knock at the door had the dark head of the potions master turn away from his work with a scowl. He glanced at the clock. It was almost seven and too late for any of his neighbours to visit. He gauged the potion with a knowledgeable glance before he left the room and went to the door.

The appearance of the stranger he’d seen earlier that day was a surprise.

“Professor, please, you’ve got to help me,” the young man exclaimed as soon as the door opened. 

“Help you?” a dark eyebrow rose.

“Please, Professor Snape, I think something’s very wrong.”

The potions master froze for a moment and he studied the stranger. He saw the dirty blond hair and tanned face and vaguely recalled brown eyes he’d barely noticed earlier. The young man shifted impatiently and dark eyes narrowed. He recognised that movement.

“Potter,” he said flatly.

“Hi, Professor. Look, can I come in? I have a problem that I hope you can help with,” Harry asked again. 

Severus Snape took a deep breath. His recognition of the Potter brat negated any attempt he could make to deny his identity. It was too easy to slip into old behaviours even though Potter was in his early twenties now. 

“Always some kind of trouble with you, Potter,” Severus said silkily as he moved away from the door. “You’d better come in, and drop the glamour as well.”

Harry followed the taller man into the cottage, twisting a woven band at his wrist to end the glamour he wore. He stopped, his now green eyes wide as he looked around the large front room. 

From the ceiling hung a dozen frames. Most were wooden but there were several metal frames, and all of them were covered with intricate patterns of woven wool. The patterns were delicate but not symmetrical and the threads glowed with blatant magic. The threads with thicker in the centre of each frame, and Harry thought there was something familiar about the patterns.

Severus led Harry past them and into the next room where a cauldron sat bubbling below another suspended frame. Slowly rising fumes wrapped themselves around the threads and a faint woodsy scent filled the room. 

This was Snape’s workroom, Harry realised as he looked around. Frames of all sizes were stacked on the shelves interspersed with boxes overflowing with wool of all shades. Harry was surprised to see a very small section devoted to potions and cauldrons. He would have expected it to be much larger.

The professor leant against the bench and eyed his guest. Potter had filled out and grown taller in the five years since they had last seen each other. The hair was longer and the candlelight caught red tints amongst the messy black strands. The eyes were as green as they’d ever been and now they sat wide and curious in an unscarred tanned face. The pale skinny student of Hogwarts was nowhere to be seen in the lithe confident young man that stood in his workshop now. And the Dark Lord was dead.

“What trouble have you found for yourself, Potter?” Severus queried.

“Um...” Harry paused, feeling a bit silly at having to ask for help. “Um, I think I’m stuck here.”

A dark eyebrow rose. “Stuck here? How so?”

“I can’t leave the village,” Harry told him with a defensive air, as if expecting Snape to mock him.

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Explain exactly what you mean,” he ordered.

“Well, I tried to apparate but as soon as I thought I’d landed where I wanted to go, I was yanked back here, right at the spot I’d left from.”

“And where had you left from?” Severus asked.

“Just by the large tree behind the pub.” Harry shrugged. “Everyone else seemed to be using that spot.”

“Yes, village legend says that a previous innkeeper’s wife had her husband buried there and insisted on everyone using it as an apparition point in revenge for something her husband had done – or not done - depending on who you ask, and as he apparently had been not very popular with anybody, they agreed. And they’ve kept up the tradition ever since.” Severus paused in thought. “What had you done in the village before that?”

“Not much,” Harry replied. “I went to a few of the shops and the owl post. I had lunch at the pub.” Harry’s breath puffed out. “I came here because a friend wanted me to drop a rock into the fountain under the hill,” and he smirked at Snape’s derisive snort. “Yeah, that’s what I said. And apparently this isn’t even the right village anyway.” He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I sent him a rude message by owl when I sent the wool off.”

Green eyes met black in sudden awareness and Harry’s voice was tentative.

“Umm, you did say she enchanted the wool?”

“Actually she charms the sheep, which is worse than if she just cast on the wool,” Severus replied as his brow furrowed in rapid thoughts.

“I have a ball left,” Harry said hesitantly, his hand digging into his pockets. “I just couldn’t send all of it – it feels really good.” He pulled out a small ball of red wool.

Severus sighed and reached for the wool. “Who did you send the rest to?”

“Neville,” Harry replied as his fingers tightened on the warm fuzzy ball. “I send him things every now and again, and he forwards them on. This time it was for Molly Weasley.”

“Longbottom?” Severus arched a sceptical eyebrow. His fingers halted a mere inch above the wool. He could feel the magic reaching for him.

“Yeah, he and Luna got upset with me when I wanted to leave after the … after, and they said they’d only let me go if I made sure to keep them updated on what I was doing and where I was. I said I would as long as they promised not to tell anyone.” Harry looked at the wool in his hand. “So, I send Nev a note with a souvenir or a knick knack to pass on. Stops them worrying.”

“I am astonished at how sensible you are being,” Severus remarked with automatic sarcasm as he watched Potter’s fingers grip the wool. “Can you put that wool on the bench?”

Harry turned and placed the wool on the closest bench, but his fingers stayed in the warm threads.

“I can’t let it go,” he said slowly.

“Hmm,” Severus hummed as he moved to one side, his wand out. “ _Finite Incantatem_.” 

Harry felt the wool shiver and for a brief moment it loosened. He tried to pull his hand back but his fingers wouldn’t let go. He sighed and put his hand and the wool back on the bench. 

“Don’t tell me I’m struck like this,” he groaned.

“Very well, I won’t tell you,” Snape snarked lightly as he prodded the wool with his wand. He muttered under his breath and the wool flared hotly and then went cold before settling into a comfortable warmth.

Harry jerked his hand and the wool away. “What are you doing?” he exclaimed. “Do you even know what you’re doing?!” he protested.

“It is obvious that I know more than you, Potter,” Severus sneered with a heavy glare at the younger man. “Hold still or I will immobilise you,” he directed sternly, before he placed his wand back into the wool and resumed his soft muttering.

Harry strained his ears trying to understand what Snape was saying, but there were few words he could understand and it was all in Latin. He struggled to hold his arm still as the wool began to writhe and twist over his hand. It tangled in his fingers and slid up and down his forearm. The warm tingling changed, going sharp and almost painful before turning colder and biting. Harry bit his lip and tried not to say anything to break Snape’s concentration.

The older man kept his eyes fixed on the wool, his wand steady in a light grip, and spells and counter spells continually fell from his lips. His eyes were gleaming and intense, and Harry realised the man was not as pale as he had been in Hogwarts and that Snape’s hair was as black as his eyes and not greasy at all. Harry winced as the wool pulled rather tightly around his thumb and then there was no feeling at all. Harry looked down and lifted his hand, the wool no longer attached. He rubbed at his hand briefly before reaching out the tangled pile.

“No, Harry, don’t touch it,” Snape ordered quietly. His long black wand stirred the wool and it shifted into a pattern. Another flick of the wand had the wool flaring in a long flame, flashing hot as it burnt in a sudden burst of smoke and stench.

Harry stepped back, waving his hands in front of his face. “Eww, that’s disgusting!” he spluttered as his eyes burnt and his nose wrinkled.

Severus waved his wand and the smoke cleared. For a long moment the smell of burnt wool hung in the air before it, too, vanished. Severus looked at the bench where a charred pattern was now etched into the wood.

“What happened?” Harry asked as he looked at the bench. “What about the wool I sent to Molly?”

“I doubt the owl will be able to deliver that package,” Severus mused. “It’s probably caught between the need to carry out the delivery and the urge to keep the wool for itself.”

“So, it’s not going to… you know…?” he asked with a wave at the burnt bench.

“Spontaneously combust? No, I doubt anything that extreme will happen to the owl,” Severus replied. “However, the sheep might be a different story.”

“The sheep?” Harry gaped.

“Indeed,” Severus said with a steady look. “You are aware of where wool comes from aren’t you?”

* * *

Harry woke and stretched, hearing his back and neck crack in protest at moving. Severus Snape had the most comfortable sofa he’d ever slept on and it would be too easy to stay there and doze the rest of his life away. The feel of the soft woollen blanket under his fingers had him reluctantly sitting up as he remembered just why he was sleeping on Snape’s sofa.

The smell of bacon prompted him to hurry to the bathroom before heading to the kitchen. Severus Snape sat at the table with sheets of parchment spread around him. He was eating toast with one hand as he inscribed what looked to be maths with the other hand.

“G’morning,” Harry said as he headed straight for teapot. The tea was dark and strong and Harry inhaled deeply before sipping it with a smile.

“Enjoying the tea?” Severus asked with well-hidden amusement.

“Yeah, everyone else I know makes it too weak,” Harry replied as he took another sip. “This is much better.”

“More tea for Mr Potter, Cerdic,” Severus said and a small house elf quietly appeared. A new teapot was placed on the table. “And more breakfast too, please,” Severus added.

“Yes Master Sev’rus, I is bringing more,” the elf nodded happily and Harry suddenly had plates of toast, eggs and bacon in front of him.

“Thanks Cerdic, this looks great,” he said with a smile for the small creature. The elf nodded again and disappeared as quietly as it had appeared. 

Harry began eating and watching Severus write on the parchment.

“What are you doing?” he asked when he’d eaten half of his plate.

“Working out how to remove the charms from Madame Boyle’s sheep without slaughtering them all,” Severus replied, and Harry stared.

“What?”

“She applied charms to her sheep, not to the wool. Therefore we can’t just remove the wool, we have to un-charm the sheep. Which is not an easy thing to do,” he said with a sigh. “It would be easier to destroy the sheep, but then Madame Boyle would be upset.”

“She could sell the meat, couldn’t she?” Harry asked.

Severus frowned at him. “The sheep have been charmed, Mr Potter. It is not considered a good idea to eat charmed meat. It is highly probable you could end up a sheep if you tried – and that would be the least of the suffering you could face.” He leant back in his chair. “Judging by the mark burning the wool left, Madame Boyle has been charming those sheep for several years and it has grown quite strong.”

“So what are we going to do?” Harry asked.

“We, Mr Potter?”

“You called me Harry yesterday,” Harry pointed out. “And yes, _we_. After all, it’s my wool we need to save as well.”

“I was obviously Confunded,” Severus replied smartly.

* * *

Two days later, Harry Potter walked into Severus’ little cottage and flopped down onto the sofa. The wonderfully comfy sofa that felt more like home than anywhere else had since leaving school.

“What was the plan that had the sheep exploding again?” he asked wearily. Severus Snape looked up from his notes at the tired man and smirked.

“The one you said would be too cruel and heartless, Potter?”

“I hate sheep,” Harry grumbled as he sank into the cushions. “I hate them and I hate sad and sneaky old women who own them.” He closed his eyes. “And it started snowing.”

“Just in time for Christmas,” Severus remarked calmly but with a noticeably cynical edge.

“Don’t remind me,” Harry groaned with a grimace. “I’m going to get a Howler from Neville if I don’t manage to send him presents to distribute – and there’s not exactly a wide choice here.”

“I find the idea of a Longbottom Howler somewhat less than terrifying,’” Severus commented.

“Quite honestly, he has Molly Weasley beat,” Harry informed him. “He doesn’t scream but he makes you feel extremely guilty. It’s very effective.”

“I look forward to hearing it,” Severus said and then paused. Christmas was still two weeks away; Harry would be gone long before that surely. Severus couldn’t think why he found that thought slightly unsettling. “Did you call Madam Boyle sad and sneaky?” he asked suddenly, wanting to distract himself from his thoughts.

“She’s sad,” Harry said with a sigh. “She’s got that small stall and it’s not selling as much as that other shop – Blight’s – is, so she’s using charms to try and increase her custom. Blight, however, is being sneaky. She’s slipping up there and adding extra charms or maybe hexes. The sheep are the sorriest looking sheep I’ve ever seen. Boyle must be half-blind if she can’t see how pathetic they’re looking.”

Severus leant back in his chair and studied the young man. Fingers pinched the bridge of his nose and he let his breath out. “And you want to help her,” he stated, completely unsurprised.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed and slumped further into the sofa. 

“Why?”

Harry shrugged. “Her wool was softer,” he said defensively.

“Of course it was. It was charmed that way,” Severus muttered. He took a deep breath. “And how do you plan to fix this?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t got any further than hexing Blight’s sheep,” Harry grumbled with a frown. “I need to get rid of the charms on Boyle’s sheep first. Then she needs to sell more stuff than just the wool – maybe something like your dreamcatchers – and have a proper shop, not just that stall …”

“I don’t make dreamcatchers,” Severus interrupted with a frown.

“Isn’t that what they are?” Harry asked, sitting up and looking at the hanging frames.

“No,” Severus shook his head. “They’re spells.”

“Spells?” Harry queried, completely confused.

“Yes.” Severus nodded. He pointed at a frame. “Do you see the pattern in that frame?”

Harry studied the threads. Wool had been worked all around the wood, stretching from one side to the other, twisting over and over again. The result was a thicker pattern in the middle of the threads. He stared at the raised pattern. It was familiar.

“I should know it, shouldn’t I?” he asked.

“You should.” Severus agreed. “Take out your wand and follow the pattern,” Severus instructed. Harry held his wand up and traced the pattern in the air. He did it again and began to smile.

“It’s _Wingardium Leviosa_!” he exclaimed with delight. He looked at the other frames and began waving his wand in the patterns he could see. “They’re spells. How is that done?”

“Creating spells needs wand movement. An incantation alone is not enough when you create a spell. By working out the values of runes and several magical equations you can determine the wand movement required. The frames make it simpler to use the calculations to determine that movement.”

“Wow. Why didn’t we have these at school?” Harry asked as he walked around the frames examining them closely. He waved his wand in the corresponding patterns, murmuring them under his breath. “There are a couple here I don’t know. Did you create them?”

Severus smirked slightly. “I did, and the frames as well. You wouldn’t have had them at Hogwarts because I developed them after … after the war.” He let his breath out. “People don’t connect Spell Master Snape with Professor Snape, Potions Master.”

“You don’t need to be a master to create spells,” Harry pointed out. “Back then you weren’t,” Harry added carelessly and then cringed at his thoughtlessness.

Severus glared at him. “No you don’t, and let us remember exactly how _dangerous_ the spells I created were. My motives weren’t the best, it’s true, but it took a lot of study to work out the wand movement and incantations. And I also created the counters for them as well. Many people don’t. They create a spell and don’t bother to ensure that it can’t be misused or made permanent.” He paused briefly. “The Unforgivables have no direct counters. There is a potion to mitigate the damage of the Cruciatus Curse, the Killing Curse can be blocked and, while _you_ can overcome the Imperius Curse, most people can’t. But there are no direct counter spells that will cancel out the original spell.”

“Could you create one?” Harry asked and Severus sighed. He had used what felt like miles of parchment trying work out the necessary calculations. 

“Unfortunately not. The runes used in the original spells have mutated over the centuries and it appears impossible to figure out what they were.”

“You’ve tried, though, haven’t you?” Harry enquired.

“Of course I have. Every spell master does.” And he’d kept on trying once he’d perfected his method of using the frames in his spells creation.

“Could you create a counter for the sheep?” Harry asked after a small pause.

Severus blinked at him.

“Madam Blight’s not using an Unforgivable so you’d be able to make a counter, and that’d cut down the charms,” Harry told him, his eyes starting to shine. “You’re a spell master now, right? This should be easy.”

Severus groaned. He had known that those green eyes were always going to give him trouble, but it had taken him two days to realise that he didn’t find that as objectionable as he should.

* * *

“Why are we standing here, freezing to death and watching sheep at midnight, when we could be at home, inside where there’s a nice blazing fire?” Harry complained softly as he huddled into a thick cloak. He was almost certain his toes had frozen off, as he couldn’t feel them anymore through his boots and three pairs of socks. “Why don’t warming charms last?” he almost whined.

“Because most people don’t want to boil themselves to death,” Severus snapped back. “And this was _your_ idea, Potter.”

Wow, Harry hadn’t heard his name hissed that malevolently since third year Potions class. But he couldn’t blame Severus. It was bitterly cold and a lazy wind had found its way into his cloak no matter how tightly he wrapped himself in it. He’d found it hard to keep the warming charm going in the freezing temperatures.

The night sky was clear and the crescent moon gave enough light to reveal the small shed where the sheep were shut in for the night. Harry could hear the occasional rustle and bleat of the dozen or so animals that were much warmer than he was. He and Severus were using the shadows of a small stand of trees to avoid detection. Harry could smell the sheep on the wind.

“Do we have to stand downwind?” he muttered.

“Yes, unless you want to wake the beasts,” Severus replied with a sigh.

“What if she doesn’t come?” Harry grumbled and rubbed at his nose. “I’m going to catch a cold.”

“I recall many years ago often complaining about you being a whiny spoiled brat and being told you were nothing of the sort,” Severus began in a bland tone. “I now believe that I was right all along, and that you simply hid it from everyone else.”

Harry sniffed as he smiled. “Well, I never was spoiled until I got to Hogwarts, and I’ve never figured out how to whine my way to success – like Malfoy, for instance. But the cold.” He paused and lost his smile. “The cold has bad memories attached to it.” He tried to shrug but didn’t quite manage it. Severus frowned and pulled the young man against him, wrapping his cloak around both of them. He felt Harry go still for a moment before he almost melted into the shared warmth.

“I don’t have enough Pepper up to deal with a Potter cold at the moment,” Severus muttered in a poor imitation of his usual gruff tones, and Harry heard and understood what Severus did not say. He leant back against the taller man, relaxing into the potion-scented robe. His brow crinkled as he caught the hint of another smell. A discreet sniff had him smiling as he recognised the woodsy scent that permeated Severus’s cottage. A scent that he’d come to associate with the tall man.

“You smell like home,” he mumbled, inhaling deeply. He felt Severus stiffen before he realised what he’d said. “Severus, I … I ... it’s just that… the cottage…” Harry stuttered.

“Shh,” Severus told him as he tightened his arms around the nearly panicking young man. A hand rose and covered Harry’s mouth. “She’s here,” Severus hissed and pointed towards the field.

Harry stopped floundering and followed Severus’ pointing finger to where a lone figure was walking across the field heading towards the small sheep shed. Harry had seen Madam Blight once but he easily recognised the ridiculously long feathered cloak that Severus had told him she always wore. At least the night had leached the colour from the feathers and it was a much muted grey and black instead of the disaster of clashing colours it was in the daylight. It was still too long and completely impracticable for sneaking around.

Severus and Harry drew back deeper into the shadows but the woman didn’t seem to be aware of anything around her. She marched quite openly across the field, taking no precautions against being noticed, or even attempting to disguise herself. Harry could sense the complete disgust coming from Severus at the complete unprofessionalism, and he had to admit to totally agreeing with the older man.

They watched as she drew close to the shed and placed her wand against the weathered stones. They couldn’t hear the spells but she stood there for nearly ten minutes continually casting, until she staggered back and shook her hands out. Then she casually turned around and almost strutted back across the field, disappearing over the boundary fence.

She’d barely vanished from sight and Severus was striding to the shed and studying the stones.

“Why did it take so long?” Harry asked as he followed, suddenly cold now Severus had let him go. 

“She sent the spells through the stone,” Severus replied. “It means that the structure is affected as well as the sheep.”

Harry was running a scan on the shed, and he pressed as close as he dared to the dark wizard. “Confunding charms and several of the lighter coercion charms are layered above the door,” he announced. “So Madam Boyle charms her sheep and is influenced to keep doing it, and keeps placing the charms because she’s Confunded and doesn’t remember that she’s already charmed them,” he thought out loud.

“Yes,” Severus said thoughtfully, his wand pressing against the stones as he ran his own scan. “Madam Blight has layered charms on the wool and the sheep. There are illusions on the wool to appear less charmed than it is, and there are hexes on the troughs and several patches on the floor – probably to keep the sheep from eating too much or being too comfortable.”

“That’s cruel.” Harry frowned. “I thought the sheep looked bad because of what Boyle was doing to them.”

“They’d be sick enough from Boyle’s charms, but having both women casting on them and the hexes on the building makes it much worse,” Severus agreed.

“Can we fix it?” Harry asked.

“We can remove them now, but the ladies will need to be taught not to do this again,” Severus replied grimly.

“I want to help with that,” Harry volunteered eagerly. 

Severus’s mouth curved upwards slightly in a tiny smile. “Come here and place your wand next to mine,” he directed, and Harry found himself pressed close to Severus as their wands aligned against the bricks.

“I need you to cast _Finite Incantatem_ and direct it to the four corners of the building. Cast it four times if you can, but even once, if it’s strong enough, will do,” Severus instructed him. “Don’t get distracted.”

“Distracted by what?” 

Severus mumbled something under his breath and suddenly the shed lit up. Like strings of coloured lights, long lines created a myriad different patterns all over the building. Harry couldn’t help trying to follow each line of light.

“Distracted by the magic,” Severus told him dryly as he smirked. “Ready?”

“Yeah, ready,” Harry forced himself to focus. “ _Finite Incantatem_ ,” he said as strongly as he could, looking towards the corner of the shed, and he was amazed when a wave of white washed out from his wand. It went to the corner he’d been looking at and he could see the coloured lines fading in its wake. He did it again, aiming for another corner, and more lines faded. He was aware of Severus following with a darker wave of green that cleared the lines completely.

It took long moments before Harry realised that all the lines were gone and he was leaning against Severus with his head down. He was tired and he didn’t think it was just from the lateness of the hour.

“Once more, Harry,” Severus murmured. “Place your wand on the brick.”

Harry lifted a heavy arm and put his wand back on the shed. Severus placed his wand right next to it and spread his fingers to cover Harry’s. Harry felt his arm tingle as he felt the magic of both wands and shifted his grip to hold both of them. Severus gripped his hand tight and whispered.

The clearest blue line Harry had ever seen appeared from both their wands and wrapped itself around the building, weaving through every brick and stone. Harry could feel the bricks becoming warm and hear the rustling of the sheep as they reacted to the different magic.

“Will the sheep recover?” he asked as the blue glow began to fade.

“Maybe, but probably not all of them,” Severus said as he pulled their wands away from the shed. He was weary. The sheer number of charms and spells that had been placed over the years on the shed had taken a lot of energy to clear and, while it had looked easy, Severus knew they had both expended a lot of magic. He was reluctant to let Harry go.

“We need to go home, we can discuss it later,” he added.

“Tired,” Harry agreed sleepily. Severus was quite comfortable to lean against, he noticed, and he didn’t want to move. A long arm wrapped around him and suddenly he was back in the cottage and sinking down onto the sofa. 

“Can’t let go,” he muttered as his hand refused to let go of their wands. Severus’s fingers tightened and he found it impossible to let go as well. Magic sparked in pleasant heat as Severus sat beside him and Harry slumped next to him, falling into sleep between breaths. 

Severus tried once more to remove his hand but couldn’t. Harry was a heavy warmth at his side and Severus watched him sleep for a long time.

* * *

The smell of coffee woke Severus the next morning and he stretched, blinking and yawning, as he woke up. He looked blearily around the room before realising he’d fallen asleep on the sofa and not in his bed. The light through the window told him it was almost mid-morning.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept in that late, even with his nocturnal adventuring. And he felt remarkably well rested. He could hear Harry in the kitchen and closed his eyes for a long moment. His fingers still tingled from the feel of Harry’s wand and magic. That was a cauldron of trouble just waiting to happen and he wasn’t sure he could refuse it.

“Severus?” Harry’s voice was tentative and Severus opened his eyes. Harry stood there with a heaped plate of toast in his hands and two cups hovering beside him.

“Coffee?” Severus queried, and Harry nodded.

“Yeah,” he said as he placed the plate and cups on the closest table. “Yeah,” he repeated. “Tea just didn’t seem to cut it this morning.” He hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to the older man.

“The post owl I sent with the wool turned up on the doorstep this morning. All the wool was charred,” Harry said slowly as he sipped the coffee.

“We’ll go to Madam Boyle’s and see if the rest of her wool is affected,” Severus replied. “Then to Madam Blight’s to organise reparations.”

“And a bit of revenge,” Harry added. 

“We’re not going to call it that,” Severus said mock-sternly. 

“But it’s what you mean,” Harry pointed out.

“Just telling Madam Boyle what Blight had been doing is going to be revenge enough,” Severus said. “There used to a feud between the two families centuries ago, but it was settled a hundred years or so ago. This will probably re-ignite it.” 

“That’s not going to solve anything,” Harry protested. 

“Feuds never do,” Severus replied with a shrug. “Even if you provide a solution that benefits them both equally, they are going to be unsatisfied. They’ll be upset with you as well with each other. You really can’t win here.”

Harry slumped into the sofa, leaning slightly against Severus. The older man let his breath out and didn’t move away.

“I… my magic likes you,” Harry murmured softly. “You could use my wand as your own… and I could use yours.”

“I’m aware,” Severus responded equally softly.

“I was thinking earlier,” Harry began, and Severus closed his eyes at the hesitant tone. 

“Yes?” he prompted, aware that under that hesitancy was a solid strand of steel.

“Madam Boyle’s sheep are sick so we need to make Madam Blight give some of her sheep to Boyle to replace them. We have to stop them from charming all the sheep again. Threats can only do so much,” Harry said.

“No threats, only promises, “Severus replied in a silky tone, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“So I was thinking I’d stay here and help keep an eye on them and maybe find a way so they don’t restart their feud,” he continued. “Christmas is coming and maybe I can commission a few small spell frames from the local Spell Master to send as gifts…” Harry paused as if expecting Severus to interrupt him, but the older man stayed quiet.

“…and I can help with your sheep,” he finished in a hurry.

“My sheep?” Severus asked in a flat tone. “Since when do I own sheep?”

“Since this morning,” Harry told him. Severus stared at him with dark eyes and a heavy frown.

“You stole Madam Boyle’s sheep,” he accused Harry.

“Well, not really stole them,” Harry protested. “I _saved_ them so if we can fix the charm damage, then you can have wool whenever you need it. Think of it as my Christmas present to you.”

“I’d rather not,” Severus said bluntly. “And I don’t have the time or the inclination to tend sheep.”

“That’s okay, I can do it,” Harry told him with a bright smile and tentative eyes. 

“You’re not leaving, are you,” Severus stated.

“No,” Harry replied with a small shrug. “I figure we don’t have to talk about it until Spring at the earliest.”

“If the sheep survive ‘til then,” Severus replied.

“They will.” Harry grinned.

**Author's Note:**

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